Artellus Numeon
on Istvaan V]] Artellus Numeon was a Terran-born Astartes officer who served as the First Captain of the Salamanders Legion's elite 1st Company, known as the Firedrakes, throughout the Great Crusade and the Horus Heresy. He also served as Equerry to the Primarch and commanded Vulkan's elite personal Honour Guard, the Pyre Guard, which was comprised of Veteran Battle-Brothers of the Salamanders Legion. Sworn to protect the Primarch, these were warriors set apart from the rest of the XVIIIth Legion. Terran-born like their commander, they did not always fully appreciate the earthy sentiments of the Nocturnean culture in which Vulkan had been raised, but they knew their duty deep within their genetically-enhanced bones. Numeon was present during the tragic events of the Drop Site Massacre on Istvaan V where his Legion was nearly decimated. He survived the Traitors' trap and eventually made his way off the scoured planet, to carry on the war against the Warmaster Horus' Traitor Legions. His ultimate fate following the events of the Horus Heresy is currently unrecorded. History Long ago, during the turbulent era known as the Age of Strife, Warp travel became impossible and all the worlds which humanity had claimed were cut off from one another, forced to fend for themselves without the support of their neighbours in other star systems. Following the end of Old Night the Emperor of Mankind first publicly revealed himself during a series of conflicts to reunite the disparate techno-barbarian nations of Terra, collectively known as the Unification Wars. Following their successful conclusion the Emperor began to forge the foundation of the Imperium of Man in the 30th Millennium. The Emperor began a massive scientific effort to create the Primarchs -- 20 genetically-engineered sons that would serve as the Emperor's generals and command the Emperor's forces during the Great Crusade to reunite the scattered human race beneath His leadership. The Ruinous Powers of Chaos somehow manage to spirit the superhuman children away through the Warp, however, leaving them scattered across the galaxy. A massive localized Warp rift was created within the gene vaults of the Emperor's own palace, deep under the Himalazian (Himalayan) Mountains on Terra where the Primarchs were gestating. The gestation capsules containing the Emperor's unborn sons were scattered through the Warp to colony planets long since lost to Mankind. Each of the Primarchs somehow found themselves on ancient worlds of men, planets long since lost to the light of the greater universe beyond the stars. One of these infant children ended up on the feudal Death World of Nocturne. The strange baby was found by a blacksmith named N'bel, who, recognising the child as the one prophesied to be a saviour by the teachings of the Promethean Cult, and named the child Vulkan. Though the infant Primarchs were lost to him, the Emperor later utilised their genomes to serve as the genetic template from which He crafted His 20 Space Marine Legions. Before Vulkan, like all the Legions, the Salamanders had hailed from Terra. Artellus Numeon was one of the first candidates to be inducted into the nascent XVIIIth Legion. Like their gene-sire, the Legionaries sired from Vulkan's genetic legacy were volatile, and fiery-tempered. In the early years of the Great Crusade, the XVIIIth Legion was nearly destroyed, as their intense desire to prove their worth almost resulted in their extinction tine and time again during battle. The very fact that there were so few Terran Salamanders left alive was testament to how close the XVIIIth Legion had come to destruction. Being reunited with their Primarch had saved them, and with the hardy people of Nocturne already students of Vulkan's Promethean Cult teachings, it was not long before the Salamanders saw their numbers swell again. Vulkan was able to save his genetic legacy because in them, he saw a great potential. The Emperor knew Vulkan was the perfect son to temper the XVIIIth Legion and forge it strong again. Learning discipline and patience, the Salamanders learned there is no better time to reflect than when they struck their Oaths of Moment and branded them into flesh before battle. Temperance in the face of war was not only prudent, it also saved lives. The Pyre Guard of the Salamanders Legion's elite Pyre Guard during the Great Crusade]] When Vulkan was reunited with his Legion, he saw the potential in his few remaining Terran sons. From amongst these survivors he chose the most stoic and fiercely independent warriors; those who had endured the worst of the XVIIIth Legion's trials and tribulations throughout the early years of the Great Crusade before he had been reunited with them. From these chosen few, the Primarch founded the Pyre Guard, his personal Honour Guard; charged with the protection of their Primarch and to act as his inner circle of advisors. Set apart from the other warriors of the XVIIIth Legion, all of the vaunted Pyre Guard were without equal. These individual warriors were hungry, ready for war. Like the deep drakes of Vulkan's homeworld, they were savage and fierce, sharp of claw and tooth. The members of the Pyre Guard were not like other Salamanders; they had more fire, more fury. Like the volcanoes of ancient Nocturne, the great jagged chains of the Dragonspike and Mount Deathfire, they were perpetually on the brink of eruption. Even the warriors of the Pyroclasts were not as volatile. The Pyre Guard were chosen warriors, those that displayed a level of self-sacrifice and self-sufficiency that exceeded all others. Like the saburai of old Nihon, they were fighters foremost, who could ally as a unit or function expertly on their own. They were also leaders, and each Pyre Guard commanded a Chapter of the Legion in addition to their duties as the Primarch's inner circle warriors. Numeon was one of these chosen elite. Though Terran-born, these elite warriors still displayed the physical traits of onyx-black skin and red eyes, an irreversible reaction to the unique radiation of Nocturne combined with the genetic heritage of their Primarch, which every Salamander, regardless of origin, possessed. The Pyre Guard's number always stood at seven, a number of great cultural significance to the people of Nocturne. When they marched to war with their Primarch, every one of their personal weapons was forged by its bearer, and every one could spit fire like the drakes of old. Horus Heresy Drop Site Massacre The Pyre Guard's role during the Horus Heresy is not well known to Imperial scholars; what is for certain is that the XVIIIth Legion, along with the Iron Hands and the Raven Guard, were part of the first wave of Loyalist attackers during the Drop Site Massacre of Istvaan V. After the announcement of the Warmaster Horus' treachery against the Emperor and the destruction of the four open Traitor Legions' (the Sons of Horus, Emperor's Children, Death Guard and the World Eaters) remaining Loyalists during the Battle of Istvaan III, the Emperor ordered seven full Legions of Space Marines to attack the Forces of Chaos serving his beloved son and former friend. But amongst those seven Legions, four were already secretly Traitors to the Imperium and devotees of the Ruinous Powers. Seconds after the first drop-ship pierced the cloud layer, batteries of emplaced guns erupted across metres of earthworks dug along the Urgall Depression. Flak fire filled the sky like upwards-pouring rain, chewing through wing and fuselage, detonating arrow-headed cocoons of metal and spilling their lethal payloads into the air. It barely dented the assault, and when the Imperial loyalists finally made planetfall, over forty thousand legionaries tramped out upon the scorched earth. Of their initial complement, only fifteen of the Salamanders' ships and eleven Drop Pods would not make the surface intact. Nigh-on full Legion strength would be levelled against Horus and his rebels. The Salamanders hit along the left flank, the Raven Guard the right and Ferrus Manus with his Morlocks dead centre. Black sand cratered by ordnance made for uncertain footing. As the vast armies of the three loyal Primarchs ran from the holds of ships or emerged through the dissipating pressure cloud of blooming drop-pods, several legionaries faltered and slipped. Sustained bolter fire met them upon planetfall, and hundreds amongst the first landers were cut down before any kind of beachhead could be established. Fire was met with fire, the drumming staccato of thousands of weapons discharged in unison, their muzzle flashes merging into a vast and unending roar of flame. Dense spreads of missiles whined overhead to accompany the salvo, streaking white contrails from their rockets. Sections of earthworks erupted in bright explosions that threw plumes of dirt and armoured men into the air. Las bursts lit up the swiftly following darkness, spearing through tanks and Dreadnoughts that loomed behind the foremost ranks of enemy defenders, only for return fire to spit back in reply. Flamers choked the air with smoke and the stink of burning flesh, as yet more esoteric weapons pulsed and shrieked. It was a cacophony of death, but the song had barely begun its first verse. against Traitor forces during the Drop Site Massacre]] The right flank was swollen with warriors of the XVIIIth. Salamanders teemed out of their transports, quickly coming into formation and advancing with purpose. The black sand underfoot was eclipsed from sight, as a green sea overwhelmed and overran it. Vexilliaries held aloft banners, attempting to impose some order on the emerging battalions. Methodical, dogged, the XVIIIth Legion found its shape and swarmed across the dark dunes. At the forefront of this avenging wave was Vulkan, and to his flanks the Firedrakes. Lumbering from the metal spearheads of Drop Pods, the Terminators amassed in two large battalions. They were dauntless, dominant, but not the most implacable warriors in the Salamanders' arsenal. Contemptors, striding through the smoke, laid claim to that honour. Great, towering war engines, the Dreadnoughts jerked with the savage recoil of Graviton Guns and Autocannons. Not stopping to see the carnage wreaked, they slowly tramped after the rushing companies of Legionaries in small cohorts, attack horns blaring. The discordant noise simulated the war cries of the deep drakes and was pumped through vox-emitters to boost its volume. Disgorged by Thunderhawk Transporters, Spartan Assault Tanks, Predators-Infernus and Vindicators disembarked at combat speed, tracks rolling. The battle tanks rode at the back of the line with a steep ridge behind them, anchoring the dropsite with their armoured might. Three spearheads were driven at the traitor's heart, two black and one green, all determined to bring down the fortress squatting at the summit of the Urgall Hills that overlooked the expansive depression. In seconds the shifting sand became as glass, vitrified by the heat of tens of thousands of weapons, and cracked underfoot. Vulkan ordered his sons to take the ridge line to gain higher ground. Shells pranging off his armour, the primarch took up the vanguard position, whilst his chasing Pyre Guard tried to keep pace. Behind the Pyre Guard, the stoic advance of the Pyroclasts struggled to keep up as they laid down sheets of burning promethium in front and to the flanks. The Terminator-armoured Firedrakes were also slipping back, unable to compete with the Primarch's speed, and Numeon began to see that there was a realistic danger of becoming estranged from the rest of the Legion. Adding their strength to the spearhead the Primarch was forging, the 15th Company Reconnaissance took up fresh position. Their charge line would take them in alongside the Pyre Guard, able to maintain pace where the bulkier Firedrakes and Pyroclasts could not. As if sensing that his Legion was losing him, Vulkan slowed but a fraction as the fire-blackened lip of the outermost trench drew close. Hunkered within the partially sundered defences, the Legionaries of the Death Guard brought guns to bear. The XIVth Legion were hardy fighters -- the Salamanders had fought alongside them at Ibsen, but those days were gone and now allies had turned into enemies. The flame storm and the ferocity of Vulkan's attack had scattered the defenders but they were rallying quickly and now counter-attacked from three separate channels. Although the trench network was wide enough for three legionaries to stand abreast, the fighting was thick and fierce. Wilting before his charge, the defenders sensibly chose to hang back and harry the primarch with a welter of bolter fire. Meeting it head on, the primarch shrugged off the shell damage as the brass casings broke apart against his near-inviolable armour. Across the entire Urgall Depression, hundreds of battles between Legionaries were fought. Some were company-strong, others were squads or even individuals. There was no scheme to it, just masses of warriors trying to kill one another. Most of the Loyalist troops had moved on from the dropsite and were engaging Horus’ rebels at the foot of his fortifications, but a few still occupied this beachhead. Scattered groups of traitors had spilled out as far as the dropsite but were quickly destroyed by the troops holding it. These were skirmishes, though, and nothing compared to the greater battle. As the 15th Company pressed the attack against the retreating Death Guard forces, a dirty cloud, too thick and too low to be fog, rolled down the slopes. It spilled into the myriad trench-works, funnelled by the conduits of hewn earth. And it was fast. In seconds it had cleared the no-man’s-land between the previous trench and the next bank of fortifications and was hurtling at Nemetor and his warriors. It overtook the Death Guard first, who adjusted respirators before the miasma hit as if they knew it was coming. It was a deadly gas attack. The Legion armoury was vast, and not all of its weapons were as obvious as a Bolter or as noble as a sword. There were those who wielded devices of much more insidious potency -- the slow and agonising ones, the weapons that forever scarred both the bearer and the victim. They did not discriminate and made no allowance for even the strongest armour. From the vaunted champion to the lowliest mortal, they were the great levellers and their works were terrible to behold. More than a hundred of the reconnaissance company collapsed, choking and spitting blood. Many of the 15th didn't wear battle-helms, preferring to be unencumbered for the stealth work at which they excelled. These warriors had suffered the worst. Skin sloughed away by virulent acids, ravaged by pustules and choking on vomit, eyes drowning in pus from the dirty bomb, there was almost nothing left of them but half-armoured carcasses. Dozens more were hacked apart or shot down by resurgent Death Guard attacking in the confusion. The numerically superior Death Guard had already overrun the smaller reconnaissance company and were attempting to encircle the rest of the Salamanders. Vulkan single-handedly prevented that, hitting the overlapping warriors and cutting them apart with his flaming sword. First Captain Numeon and the Pyre Guard joined him fractionally later and a dense, chaotic melee erupted. As battle continued to rage all around them, the din of the melee was pierced by savage and guttural war cries. A ruddy smog was sweeping across the battlefield, fashioned from blood-drenched mist and the smoke generated by thousands of fires. Caught in a crosswind, it slashed in from the east and brought with it the brutal challenge of a Legion that revelled in war. It was the XIIth Legion -- the World Eaters. Ash-fall from the many thousands of fires turned the sky grey. It baptised a cohort of warriors, clad to various degrees in ancient gladiatorial trappings and wielding ritual caedere weapons. They were the Rampagers, a deadly breed even amongst the Eaters of Worlds, and a throwback to Angron's incarceration as a slave-fighter. Bellowing guttural war cries, they charged ahead of a Contemptor Dreadnought to engage the Salamanders. Emerald-armoured Astartes balked at what the battle-maddened World Eaters attempted. Though there was no more than thirty men - just three squads - they charged over a hundred. Several went down to sporadic bolter fire. Some were clipped by shrapnel but kept on coming. Only those too injured to fight, unable to run because of missing limbs or critical wounds were halted. Something urgent and terrible spurred them on. Even when they were the War Hounds, their reputation in battle, particularly close-quarters, was fearsome. As the reborn World Eaters under Angron, they had become something else. Rumours abounded within the ranks, of arcane devices that manipulated the legionaries' tempers, simulacra of the ones embedded in Angron's skull by his slavers. Now that the Salamanders saw them, ignoring pain and injury, frothing with frenzy, they believed those stories to be true. As the Salamanders and World Eaters fought in bloody close-quarters, elsewhere on the slope, a much larger force of Firedrakes fought Angron's personal body guard, the Devourers, to a bloody stalemate. For once, the Lord of the Red Sands was close to his Honour Guard. Angron bellowed a challenge to his brother Primarch. Vulkan's name was heard amongst the guttural syllables of the World Eater's native tongue. Anointed in blood, partially obscured by scudding clouds of smoke and shimmering heat haze, Angron continued to bellow his challenge, this time in High Gothic, "Vulkan!" His voice was the like fall of cities, rumbling and booming across the vast battlefield. Angron jabbed down to his brother with one of the motorised Power Axes he carried. Its blade was burring, roaring for blood. "I name you high rider!" Farther down the slope, Vulkan gripped the haft of his immense warhammer Dawnbringer and went to meet his brother's challenge. But before the two Primarchs could come to blows, an arcing salvo from one of the traitor gun emplacements spear-headed a missile up into the air and all the way down until it struck part of the slope between the two Primarchs. A firestorm lit the hillside, several tonnes of incendiary ordnance expressed in the expansive bloom of conflagration. It swept outwards in a turbulent wave, bathing the lower part of the slope in heat and flame. This was nothing compared to its epicentre. Firedrakes were immolated in that blast, blown apart and burned to ash in their Terminator Armour. Though Vulkan was wreathed in flames, he stepped from the blaze unharmed. The remaining Firedrakes gathered to him, tramping over the dead where they had to. Mauled as they had been by the World Eaters, Vulkan knew that his warriors had suffered but would not stop until they were dead or the battle was over. But it was grievously attritional, and he was not ashamed to admit relief when he heard that the reinforcements coming in to make planetfall behind them. Hundreds of landers and drop-pods choked the already suffocating sky, emblazoned with the iconography of the Alpha Legion, Iron Warriors, Word Bearers and Night Lords. The Primarch merely watched impassively as the manifold shuttles touched down and the loyalists took up position on the edge of the depression. Of Angron, there was no sign. The firestorm had beaten him back, it seemed, and now with the arrival of four more Legions, the Lord of the Red Sands had ordered a retreat. Both the Raven Guard and the Salamanders withdrew towards their drop site to give their recently arrived reinforcements a chance to earn glory against the Traitors. Vulkan and his brother Corax tried to persuade their fiery-tempered brother Ferrus Manus to do the same. But the Gorgon would not be dissuaded from his task. The scent of blood was in the air, and so, the Iron Hands pressed the attack against the retreating Traitor forces. Unknown to the Loyalists, the drop site had been fortified by the four secret Traitor Legions, who had been intended to form the second wave of the Imperial assault on Horus' forces. While the retreat of Horus' rebels was ragged and disorganised, the warriors of the XVIIIth and XIXth Legions fell back in good order. Tanks returned to column, rumbling slowly but steadily back down the slope. The scorched trenches emptied as legionaries filed out in vast hosts, company banners still flying. They were battered but resolute. The dead and injured came with them, dragged or borne aloft by their still standing brothers. It was a great exodus, the black and green ocean of war retreating with the tide to leave the flotsam of their slain enemy behind it. Tactical Squad disembarks a Rhino during the Drop Site Massacre]] On the northern side of the Urgall Depression, a fresh sea made ready to sweep in and carry all of the mortal debris away. Across from the muster field of the Salamanders, which was little more than a laager of drop-ships, were the Iron Warriors. Armoured in steel-grey with black-and-yellow chevrons, the IVth Legion looked stark and stern. They had erected a barricade, the armoured bastions of their own landing craft alloyed together, to bolster the northern face of the slope. Great cannons were raised aloft behind it, their snouts pointing to the ash-smothered sky. A line of battle tanks sat in front, bearing the grim icon of a metal-helmeted skull. And in front of that, Iron Warriors arrayed in their cohorts, thousands strong. They held their silence and their weapons across their bodies, with no more life than automatons. Not a single Legionary about the XVIIIth stood idle. Yet the Iron Warriors, the entire muster on the northern slope, neither spoke nor moved beyond what was necessary to assemble. Not one responded to the Salamanders' hails. Only the wind kicking at their banners gave any sense of animus to the IVth Legion throng. Only when Vulkan started in the direction of his brother, Perturabo, the Lord of Iron returned the Lord of Drakes' gimlet gaze with one of his own. It was only at that moment, did Vulkan realise that they had been betrayed. More than ten thousand guns answered, the weapons of their allies turned on the Salamanders with traitorous intent, crushing the Loyalists between the hammer of Horus' forces and the anvil of the fortified drop site. Wrath drove Vulkan up the side of the hill, that and a sense of injustice. The ignoble actions of his brother primarchs had wounded Vulkan to the core, far deeper and more debilitating than any blade. Vaunted warriors all, the Pyre Guard could scarcely keep up. Battle companies followed in the wake of their lords, captains roaring the attack as thousands of green-armoured warriors chased up the slope to kill the sons of Perturabo. Withering crossfire from both the north and south faces of the Urgall Depression cut down hundreds in the first few seconds of deceit. The XVIIIth Legion were shedding warriors like a snake sheds scales. But still they drove on, determined not to back down. Tenacity was a Salamander’s greatest virtue -- that refusal to give in. Upon the plains of Isstvan V, against all of those guns, this quality almost ended the XVIIIth Legion. Only as the majority of the Salamanders crested the first ridge, did they first see the arc of fire. It trailed, long and blazing, into the darkening sky. The tongue of flame climbed and upon reaching the apex of its parabola bent back on itself into the shape of a horseshoe. Rockets screaming, it came down in the midst of the charging Salamanders and broke them apart. A savage crater was gored into the Urgall hills, like the bite of some gargantuan beast resurrected from old myth and birthed in nucleonic fire. It threw warriors skywards as if they were no more than empty suits of armour, bereft of bone and flesh. As a bell jar shatters when dropped onto rockcrete from a great height, so too did the Legion smash apart. Tanks following after their lord Primarch were flung barrel-rolling across the black sand with their hulls on fire. Those vehicles in the mouth of the blast were simply ripped apart; tracks and hatches, chunks of abused metal torn to exploded shrapnel. Legionaries spared death in the initial blast were eviscerated in the frag storm. Super-heavies crumpled like tin boxes crushed by a hammer. Crewmen boiled alive, legionaries cooked down to ash in that furnace. It went deep, right into the beating heart of the Salamanders ranks. Only by virtue of the fact that they were so far ahead were the Pyre Guard spared the worst. With immense kinetic fury, it threw them apart and smothered their armoured forms in a firestorm. An electro-magnetic pulse wiped out the Vox, a threnody of static reigning in place of certain contact. Tactical organisation became untenable. In a single devastating strike, the Lord of Iron had crippled the XVIIIth Legion, severed its head and sent its body into convulsive spasm. Retreat was the only viable strategy remaining. Droves fell back to the dropsite, trying to climb aboard ships that were surging desperately into the sky to outreach the terrible storm of betrayal below. It was not a rout, though for any force other than the Legiones Astartes it would have been, faced with such violence. Many were cut down as the traitors threaded the air with enough flak to wither an armada. Despite a heroic defence, the three Loyalist Legions who took part in the battle on Istvaan V were practically destroyed; all but a handful of Battle-Brothers fell on that fateful day and the Primarch Ferrus Manus of the Iron Hands was beheaded by his former best friend Fulgrim, the Primarch of the Emperor's Children. After this sad defeat, the Salamanders, as well as the other two betrayed Space Marine Legions, were unable to perform any further tasks the Emperor had planned for them and spent the rest of the Heresy rebuilding their shattered forces. Both Vulkan and his brother Corvus Corax survived the ambush on Istvaan V. Conflicting reports by the few survivors stated that Vulkan, also gravely wounded, had to be dragged away from the fight onto a Thunderhawk gunship by three of his Pyre Guard and then managed to escape back to Nocturne. But the reality of the Salamanders' Primarch's fate proved to be far more dire. Flight of the Fire Ark With the full treachery of the Traitor Legions revealed, and the whereabouts of Vulkan unknown, Numeon saw that retreat was the only viable strategy remaining. Droves of Loyalist survivors fell back to the dropsite, trying to climb aboard ships that were surging desperately into the sky to outreach the terrible storm of betrayal below. It was not a rout, though for any force other than the Legiones Astartes it would have been, faced with such violence. Many were cut down as the Traitors threaded the air with enough flak to wither an armada. Groaning, feeling the extent of every one of his many injuries, and ignoring the urgent cascade of damage reports scrolling down the left side of his one still-functional retinal lens, Numeon staggered to his feet. A piece of armour, one he knew well and had seen before, lay within his grasp. He took the sigil once worn by Vulkan and tucked it into his belt. His Pyre Guard brother, Leodrakk was with him, but he couldn't see Vulkan or the rest of the Pyre Guard. Smoke blanketed the ridge and the ash-fall had intensified. Heat haze from the still-burning fire blurred his vision. He saw the crater -- he had been thrown back from its epicentre -- and the hundreds of twisted bodies within. They were incinerated, fused into their armour. Some were still dying. Numeon knew he had to reach a dropship, he had to save himself and Leodrakk. They must have slipped into a narrow defile that had shielded their bodies from the fire. Numeon assumed that he had blacked out. There were fragments, pieces that he did not possess in his eidetic memory of what happened after the missile strike. He remembered Leodrakk calling out his brother's name. But Skatar'var had not answered. None of the Pyre Guard were answering. Finally reaching the dropsite with Leodrakk, Numeon found visibility was almost zero. Like tar turned into air, the blackness was virtually absolute. Auto-senses were of limited use, but Numeon managed to get as far as a ship. Leodrakk was retching in the vile smoke, so thick it would have killed a lesser man. He clung to Numeon’s left shoulder and let the Pyre captain guide him. But Numeon was struggling, too. The dropship was close enough to touch but the filth besieging them made it impossible to gauge the location of the entrance ramp or if it was even open. Out of the darkness, a hand reached for them, and together they stumbled onto the deck of a crowded Stormbird. It was black within the lander; smoke was also filling the hold and the internal lighting was out. Numeon slumped and rolled on his back, his eye burning like someone had thrust a knife into it and twisted the blade. He was more badly wounded that he had at first realised, having taken several hits during the descent as he shielded his Pyre Guard brother from harm. Leodrakk was on his knees, coughing up the wretched smoke from his lungs. Then unconsciousness took him and he was lost to it. Verud Pergellen, one of the Iron Hands' elite Honour Guard known as the Morlocks, had saved Numueon and Leodrakk's lives on the plains of Istvaan V. So few of the Morlocks had escaped, so very few of the Iron Hands' Clan Avernii left to continue its great and noble legacy. When the shells were falling and the full horror of the betrayal revealed, it was Pergellen who had fought his way back to the dropships when other Iron Hands warriors were losing their minds at the death of their Primarch Ferrus Manus. The survivors of Istvaan V had been a mess of disparate units and Legions. Not all had survived the escape. Some were simply too badly wounded or had been dead when they were dragged aboard. Of the forty-seven Legionaries that took flight on that vessel, only twenty-six survived. They lived long enough to be reunited with the Fire Ark, a Salamanders Strike Cruiser that had escaped the carnage -- one of the few. It had not done so unscathed. Many of the crew were killed during that desperate flight. Wounded, weary, they had levelled what guns they had on the dropship emerging from that self-same chaos, not realising they were friends, not foes. There were no Legionaries aboard, not one. Every single able-bodied warrior that could don war-plate had been sent to bring the disgraced Warmaster Horus to heel. It was extravagant, Numeon realised in retrospect -- a means of showing force to force and hoping the latter balked in the face of the former. How wrong they were. It did not seem like extravagance now; instead, it smacked of ignorant sacrifice. And how Horus had prepared his altar for their willing offering. The blades of his Traitors were sharp indeed on that slab of Istvaan V. Since finding the Fire Ark and the brave but depleted crew aboard, they had lost three more Legionaries. Numeon had allied them together, given them back some semblance of purpose. But it did not come without risk, and a vein of fatalism was growing in this company. He had expected it of the Iron Hands, but they bore the loss of their Primarch with a quiet and steely determination that did the Medusans much credit. No, it was the Nocturneans, the sons of Vulkan, that suffered most. Of all the Salamanders, only Numeon believed. In his heart, he knew that his father had survived. The rest, despite his impassioned arguments, were not so convinced, and fought for vengeance instead of hope and a desire to serve. Numeon knew these men were broken. Bereft of leadership, they would have destroyed one another, and with no way to return to their Legions they were cut adrift and aimless. Their vessel, the Fire Ark, had been badly damaged in the exodus from Istvaan V. Some weapon systems were still functional, though these were insufficient to last long against a fully operational ship of the same caliber. Life support, power for lighting on certain decks, the engines and warp drive still worked, albeit at a reduced and unreliable capacity. Communications were another matter, however. Shipboard Vox worked well enough but long-distance augurs and the sensorium arrays were beyond repair and use. Even ship-to-surface vox was extremely patchy. Captain Halder had achieved the near-impossible in effecting a successful escape, but they had limped on ever since and knew nothing of the greater war. Or even if there was a greater war. For all they knew, everyone was dead and Horus had won. Numeon refused to believe that. Just as he refused to believe that Vulkan had died along with Lord Manus. He had not seen the Primarch fall, but the news from their fellow survivors who had, was compelling as it was grim. They would fight on, hoping that others did too. Pursuit of the Word Bearers The months that followed saw the Fire Ark embark on a series of hit-and-run attacks on the Traitor forces. During their campaign of hit-and-run tactics, the survivors of the Fire Ark had come across the world of Viralis. The entire planet was filled with corpse-filled streets; bodies defiled and mutilated in service to the Dark Powers. The Traitors had left something else behind as well. The few survivors had been greatly changed, human no longer. They had become...things. The Loyalists soon discovered that the perpetrator of this horrific atrocity was none other than the hated Word Bearers Legion, specifically, a Dark Apostle named Valdrekk Elias, who was sworn to the service of First Chaplain Erebus. The survivors of the Fire Ark soon tracked the whereabouts of the cleric to the world of Traoris. They had discovered that the Word Bearers had been tracking a frontier archaeologist named Caeren Sebaton to an ancient fortification. They were intent on acquiring an unknown object from the dig site of an ancient fortress. Though the Loyalists were unsure as to the purpose of the Word Bearers' presence on the planet, they intended to save Traoris from suffering the same fate as Viralis. Twenty-three Legionaries comprised Numeon's disparate company, himself included. It was barely more than two squads. The majority were Salamanders, mainly line warriors with a few Pyroclasts, as well as himself and Leodrakk from the Pyre Guard. A pair of Battle-Brothers and Codicier Hriak represented the Raven Guard. And of the Iron Hands Legion, there were only Domadus and Pergellen. Ever since the evacuation from the Istvaan V killing fields, there had been no contact with any other Legion force. Over the course of a few weeks, as events played out, Numeon's warriors saved the mortal Sebaton. After intense scrutiny and the invasive psychic scrying of Codicier Hriak, the archaeologist revealed that he was the mysterious individual known as John Grammaticus, a human operative of the mysterious xenos organisation called the Cabal, and had been genetically altered by them to become what they referred to as a "Perpetual", a being who was capable of regeneration and therefore was effectively immortal, much like the Emperor of Mankind. He had been tasked to come to Traoris to obtain a relic from the ancient ruins of a fortress built by Chaos Cultists millennia ago. Within the fortress was buried a spear, though not a spear as such. This so-called "spear" was a piece of fulgurite, a fork of lightning crystallised in rock. The sublime artefact had been formed from the infinite power of the Emperor when he annihilated the servants of the Ruinous Powers in millennia past. The Dark Apostle hoped to obtain it in order to utilise the devine power within to ascend to Daemonhood. Grammaticus also informed Numeon that the relic had something to do with the Salamanders' Primarch Vulkan, but as to what, he could not say. Though initially distrustful of the strange mortal, Numeon relented, and attempted to help Grammaticus escape off-world. The remaining Loyalists were being hunted by the relentless Word Bearers Huntsman, Barthusa Narek, a servant of the Dark Apostle Elias, as well as the Chaos Cultists of Traoris. Over the course of making their way towards Traoris' lone spaceport, many of the surviving Legionaries were killed. The Raven Guard had hidden their Thunderhawk gunship within the lightning fields located on the high peaks that surrounded the spaceport. While some of the surviving Loyalists futilely attacked the spaceport in order to draw the bulk of the encroaching Word Bearers away, Numeon, Grammaticus and Codicier Hriak made their way towards the hidden gunship. Unfortunately, Narek and two of his fellow Word Bearers followed them, having tracked the Raven Guard's psychic spoor. The Raven Guard willingly sacrificed himself as he confronted the encroaching Traitor Marines. As Numeon went to assist Grammaticus, the mortal utilised a laser Digital Weapon and fired it into one of Numeon's retinal lens, burning out his eye and searing his face beneath. The trauma of it put him on his knees. Half-blind, he snatched for the human. Grammaticus took the fulgurite from Numeon's scabbard, deftly avoiding the Salamander's grab. Before the human departed, he wanted to know only one thing, did Vulkan truly live? The mortal believed that he did. Suddenly, the Pyre Captain convulsed as he was shot by a Bolt Pistol from behind. Grammaticus froze in place as he was confronted by the Dark Apostle Elias himself, who stood on the lowered ramp of the gunship. Without warning, a tear in reality appeared before them, the form of Erebus stepping forth. Elias thought that his master had come to help him achieve his ascension. Handing over the fulgurite relic, Erebus lashed out with the lightning spear and slit the other Dark Apostle's throat. Elias sank to his knees, dying, unable to staunch the grievous wound from the god-weapon. Erebus had killed his former servant for attempting to betray him. Erebus then ordered Grammaticus to take the relic, making no attempt to stop him. Cautiously, the human took the proffered relic and departed Traoris in the lone gunship. Regaining consciousness despite his severe wounds and the loss of his right eye, Numeon attempted to reach the Fire Ark which had miraculously survived this far, but was instead captured by another company of the Word Bearers. Deliverance Imprisoned on board of the Demagogue, a ''Hunter''-class Destroyer belonging to the fleet of Dark Apostle Quor Gallek, and tortured over several months by the Dark Apostle's lieutenant -- a daemon-possessed Word Bearer that answered to the name of Xenuth Sul. Numeon's mind was stretched to its very limits and beyond. It became quickly apparent that the Unburdened sought information on the whereabouts both of the fulgurite stone -- the esoteric weapon created by the Emperor's divine power -- and of the traitor Barthusa Narek, which had been tasked with retrieving the fulgurite but had since betrayed his Legion for unknown reasons. Artellus Numeon witnessed first hand the depths in which the Word Bearers had sunk as the Demagogue resembled more a flying sacrificial altar for Xenuth Sul and Quor Gallek to conduct their unholy blood-rites, than a warship of the Legiones Astartes. Fortunately for Numeon, the Demagogue and its sister-ship, the Dark Sacrament, were attacked by a Strike Cruiser of the Ultramarines Legion later identified as the Defiance of Calth. The Defiance of Calth’s attack having disrupted whatever blasphemous ritual had allowed Quor Gallek to manifest himself onboard the Demagogue, Numeon succeeded in freeing himself from the restrains chaining him to the sacrificial altar and although very weak, he decided to seek out revenge and retrieve Vulkan's sigil from the dead hands of Xenuth Sul who had taken it from him. Freed, Numeon was surrounded by the corpses of Loyalist legionnaries which were already dead. As he looked around the grim abattoir, he encountered one survivor of the Iron Hands who was had been mercilessly tortured and brutalised by his Word Bearers captors. Numeon ended up killing the grievously wounded legionary as a final act of mercy, promising him that he would make the Word Bearers pay, before seeking out his chosen target. Meanwhile, the Dark Sacrament was burning as the Ultramarines of the "Red-marked" company, led by their charismatic and battle-hardened leader, Sergeant Aeonid Thiel, had also boarded the Demagogue. Discovering the sacrificial altars within the torture cell, Sergeant Thiel quickly realized that one of the prisoners had escaped. Thiel led his squad for the bridge, realizing that whoever had been imprisoned, would likely seek to settle their score with the commander of the ship. Having scavenged a Bolt Pistol and a Combat Blade from dead Word Bearers, Numeon had thus far managed to head to the bridge unopposed, but was now blocked by a Legionnary in full battle-plate standing guard in front of the bridge. Half-naked and ill-equipped, Numeon prepared himself for a futile, if glorious, charge when the Word Bearer was killed by disciplined bolter-fire from Thiel's strike-team. Storming the bridge on his own, Numeon found Xenuth Sul alone and prepared to confront him, when Thiel and his Ultramarines interrupted him, seized Xenuth Sul and retrieved Vulkan's sigil without a fight. Numeon was then transferred to the Apothecarion of the Defiance of Calth to have his wounds attended to, while the ship made its way to the heart of Ultramar, to Magna Macragge Civitas and the Fortress of Hera, were Vulkan's body had been entombed since his death at the hand of Bartusa Narek. During the shorty journey, something akin to friendship quickly developed between Aeonid Thiel and Numeon. The Ultramarines' Sergeant informed Numeon of the events that had taken place since the Battle of Calth, and of the struggles the Realm of Ultramar now faced and of Roboute Guilliman's initiative to declare Terra as having fallen and the Primarch's proclamation to begin Imperium Secundus. More importantly, he told Numeon of Vulkan's apparent madness following his month-long torture at the hands of his former brother Primarch, Konrad Curze -- the murderous Primarch of the Night Lords -- and his Primarch's eventual death. Despite this dire news, Numeon refused to believe in Vulkan's demise, convinced that Vulkan lived, and might ultimately still be restored to life. However, Thiel did warn Numeon that the Ultramarines had Vulkan's presumed killer in custody and that their new prisoner, Xenuth Sul, would soon suffer a similiar fate. Imperium Secundus ; (from left-to-right) Primarchs Roboute Guilliman (Chief Advisor), Sanguinius (The new Emperor) & Lion El'Jonson (Lord Protector)]] Upon reaching Macragge, Numeon discovered that he was not the only son of Vulkan to have reached the homeworld of the XIIIth Legion, nor were the Salamanders the only shattered Legions present on Macragge -- delegations of Iron Hands and Raven Guard were also present, as were lone warriors of the White Scars and even the Space Wolves Legions. But supreme amongst the Loyalists stood the triumvirate of Ultramarines, Dark Angels and Blood Angels -- the legions of the founders of the new Imperium. While Numeon's return was celebrated with due rejoice, the sad certainty of Vulkan's death overshadowed the reunion between Numeon and his brothers. Almost upon arrival, Numeon demanded to be taken to his Primarch's resting place. Escorted by two of his brothers, Numeon reached the vault where Vulkan's body had been laid to rest in an ornate golden casket, only to find that the Primarch's mortal remains had mysteriously vanished. Neither Numeon nor the honour guard standing vigil around their Primarch had seen or heard anything, which only served to deepen the mystery of the Primarch's true state. Almost immediately, search parties from the Ultramarines most elite troops, the Invictus Guard, were despatched to cover the entire fortress and city, but in the initial phase, the Salamanders were purposefully kept from joining the search. It would take a personnal audience of Numeon -- rightly regarded as the de facto Legion Master of the Salamanders Legion, being the sole surviving senior officer of the XVIIIth having been saved from the black sands of Istvaan V -- to sway the mind of both Lord Guilliman and that of the new Emperor, the Primarch Sanguinius of the Blood Angels. Numeon argued his case with charisma, and although he failed in convincing the gathered three Primarchs of Vulkan's return to life, the Salamanders were permitted to search for their lost Primarch. Their efforts would however, largely be in vain. Nevertheless, this episode marked a decisive turn of events for the sons of Vulkan, firstly because the enterprise they showed in questing for their missing Primarch served to strengthen and renew the bonds of brotherhood between these scattered survivors and secondly, because more and more of these legionaries were now looking to Numeon for guidance and leadership. Some of the legionaries had even started believing in Numeon's mantra, "Vulkan lives," that their Primarch may indeed still live, but this new uplifting spirit was soon sorely tested when Titus Prayto, amongst the most senior Librarians of the Ultramarines, revealed to Numeon and his closest advisors the full and horrible truth about their Primarch's arrival on Macragge; that Vulkan had truly died upon arriving on the Ultramarine homeworld and had miraculously come back to life shortly afterwards to battle against Night Lords murderous Primarch, Konrad Curze, but also that the trauma he had experienced had bereft Vulkan of his sanity. Ultimately, Titus Prayto revealed a final secret that Roboute Guilliman had not shared with Vulkan's sons -- that the man behind Vulkan's murder, the Word Bearer, Bartusa Narek, was imprisoned within the Fortress of Hera and that Xenuth Sul had also been transferred there. Numeon ultimately grew to the task of leadership he had never had desired, to lead what remained of the XVIIIth Legion. As an exterior symbol of his new responsibilities, Numeon was presented with a new suit of Power Armour, a Salamanders' forged suit befitting of a Legion Consul, and armed with the very best weapons at their disposal. Chaplain Var'kir had relinquished his ornate Bolt Pistol, the bronze-chased and serpent-headed, Basilysk, while Sergeant Zytos presented the Legion Master with his own sword, an artificer-wrought Chainsword forged from the teeth of the mighty Nocturnian salamander Draukoros. Thus armoured and armed, Numeon would lead his brothers on their first mission -- the interrogation of Bartusa Narek. By the time a Thunderhawk gunship was summoned to take the small party to the Eastern Keep of the Fortress of Hera, pandemonium had broken out. Unknown to his captors, Xenuth Sul had been one of the dreaded "Unburdened," the elite demonically-possessed warriors of the Word Bearers Legion, which he had now utilised his unnatural powers to free himself, and gone onto rampage through the prison facility. The sacrifice of the Demagogue and the Dark Sacrament, his own capture and transfer to the Eastern Keep, had all been done willingly, so as to get closer to his intended target, the renegade Bartusa Narek, from which his sombre master, the Dark Apostle Quor Gallek, hoped to learn the secrets and powers of the fulgurite stone. In company of Aeonid Thiel and one of his Red-marked, Numeon raced after Xenuth Sul to confront him, but the Unburdened was faster, and reached Narek's cell first. Thiel, one of his warriors and Numeon stormed the cell to confront the Word Bearers Legionary inside the cell, only to realise that they were confronting Xenuth Sul and not Bartusa Narek. Revealing his true demonic nature, Xenuth Sul attacked the Loyalists, knocking Thiel unconscious and killing his companion. Numeon lashed out with his new blade, Draukoros and severely wounded Sul, but the blade remained trapped in the daemonic flesh of his opponent, effectively disarming him. Numeon was forced to fall back and utilise his secondary blade -- an Ultramarine Gladius -- to desperately fight for his life. Xenuth Sul pressed his advantage and sought an easy kill, but hesitated when confronted with Vulkan's Sigil, which gave the arriving legionaries comprised of the Salamanders Zytos and Var'kir and two Ultramarines guards more than enough time to rake the Unburdened with deadly bolter fire. Hurled back by the deluge of shells, Xenuth Sul staggered, giving Sergeant Thiel enough time to regain his senses, and launched another attack. Hard-pressed by both Thiel and Numeon, Xenuth Sul was finally vanquished when Artellus Numeon retrieved Draukoros from its unholy flesh and beheaded the foul creature. Bartusa Narek's escape resulted in a renewed city-wide search, but as for the search for the Primarch of the Salamanders, both parties of Ultramarines and Salamanders returned empty-handed. With their only lead on their Primarch's whereabouts now lost to them, the surviving Salamanders gathered together in council. The new brotherhood of the sixty-six surviving sons of Vulkan took the name of the Pyre and now, more then ever, looked to Numeon for guidance. Narek's escape and the disappearance of their father's body left them precious little reason to stay on Macragge, and most of them desired to undertake the perilous journey back to their home world of Nocturne. But most of these survivors of the XVIIIth Legion refused to be treated as a mere tool of propaganda for the Ultramarines' new Imperium. However, Numeon overwhelmed by grief over the repeated loss of his Primarch, refused the position that was offered to him and isolated himself to mourn in one of Magna Macragge's former cemeteries. Seeking solitude, Numeon instead encountered the Primarch of the Dark Angels, Lion El'Jonson, the new Lord Protector of Imperium Secundus. Far from trying of convincing Numeon to remain on Macragge, the Lion confessed his doubts regarding the fall of Terra and reminded Numeon of his duties as the new Legion Master of the Salamanders. Still reluctant, Numeon answered him that he had neither desire, nor claim to that title, upon which the Primarch of the First Legion answered that Numeon's was the only true claim. Although their causes might have seemed lost or futile, they were still warriors of the Imperium and their oaths and honour demanded that their quest should nevertheless be accomplished. Left alone with his thoughts and broken dreams, Numeon wandered in the cemetery until he encountered a honourary statue of Ferrus Manus, the slain Primarch of the Iron Hands Legion. Denied his vengeance and single hope, Numeon let his bitterness flow, but was struck by silence as his eyes fell on another statue -- there in the shadows, sitting upon a marble throne was Vulkan's body. Reunited with his Primarch, Numeon's convictions grew strong -- Vulkan would be restored -- not on Macragge, but on their home world. The Salamanders would bring Vukan's body back to Nocturne. The Odyssey of the Charybdis With the miraculous recovery of their Primarch's body, the Salamanders soon went forward with their plans and departed Macragge to attempt the perilous voyage to Nocturne. Under normal circumstances, this would already have been a long and arduous voyage, but since the Ruinstorm, the immense warpstorm that was ritualistically summoned by the Word Bearers on Calth, warp-travel had proved erratic at best and deadly at worse. The Ruinstorm was not only dangerous because of the powerful warp turbulences it had brought with it, but because it occluded the light of the Astronomican, and thus, rendered Navigators practically blind, which successfully impeding all warp traffic. Macragge was the only known exception to this as it had been -- for lack of a better word -- "lit up" by the xenos artefact known as the Pharos, located beneath the largest peak on the world of Sotha. As Nocturne lacked both the light of the Pharos and that of the Astronomican, the Salamanders' quest to reach their home world was not only inherently dangerous, but would also likely prove to be fatal. It was no surprise that Roboute Guilliman appeared reluctant to let the Salamanders so easily depart Macragge and his new Imperium. However, Roboute Guilliman's position had been severely weakened by the inability of his most elite warriors both to recapture the fugitive Bartusa Narek and to relocate the corpse of his slain brother. Furthermore, Macragge and Ultramar still needed rebuilding and on a purely strategic matter, the sixy-six Salamanders would hardly make a difference. Leaderless, the Salamanders had been easily subdued, but with the emergence of Artellus Numeon as their new Legion Master, the Salamanders’ reputed stubborness would prove difficult to overcome. In a private audience with the Lord of the Ultramarines, Numeon made it clear that the Salamanders intended to leave Ultramar, with or without Guilliman's blessings. Although he would try to convince Numeon to stay on Macragge, in the end Guilliman would let the Salamanders depart unhindered. The Charybdis was a venerable vessel, a Battle Barge, and more importantly than her size and the sheer power of her formidable arsenal, the Charybdis was a survivor. Never would she be considered beautiful or majestic. War had branded her as surely and indelibly as any fire-born. Despite her aesthetic imperfections, the Charybdis did have something going for her. She was unyielding. Few ships of the XVIIIth Legion escaped the atrocity at Isstvan V. Her flanks were scored and dented. Burns marked most of her dorsal aspect. Gouges in her hull had been sealed and resealed, then patched with ablative armour. She was scorched and beaten, battered and bruised, but like her Legion, the Charybdis endured. Though her previous captain had also died above Istvaan V, her new bridge crew under Shipmaster Kolo Adyssian and Lieutenant Arikk Gullero, though young, were both experienced and battle-hardened. Guilliman had offered to despatch ships to escort her to the edge of Ultramar, but Numeon had refused, and so the Charybdis would begin her journey and brave the dangers of the Immaterium alone. Shortly before her departure while Artellus Numeon was still contemplating the ship that would take him back to Nocturne, the leader of the Pyre is joined by Aeonid Thiel. Like his Primarch, Thiel did not believe that Vulkan could rise again, but in Numeon he saw a worthy successor for the Lords of Drakes -- a strong leader for a broken Legion. Despite the lack of armed escorts the beginning of the Charybdis’ voyage was without incident. On the edge of the Macragge-system the Salamanders encountered evidence of where a major naval battle had taken place, leaving an immense debris field through which the Battle Barge had to navigate to reach the system's Mandeville Point. At the heart of this desolation lay an gargantuan ship-wreck, vasty superior in size to the ''Gloriana''-class Battleship -- one of the dreaded vessels of the Word Bearers' -- an ''Abyss''-class Battleship. As the Charybdis was clearing the debris field they received an Imperial distress-code emanating from a civilian fuel depot designated as, "Rampart," which had come under attack by a vessel of the XIVth Legion, the Death Guard. Closing with the the depot, the Charybdis identified the enemy vessel as a ''Gladius''-class Light Cruiser, the Necrotor, which had already launched landers to assault the civilian station. This placed the Salamanders in dire situation -- although the Charybdis immensely outgunned the Necrotor, the Salamanders’ vessel was woefully undermanned, leaving it vulnerable to eventual boarding actions. However, Zytos and Xathen would not readily let a chance such as this -- to exact retribution on those who had betrayed their Legion on the sands of Istvaan -- pass. Further communications also revealed the presence of an unknown Space Marine operating alone on "Rampart" and opposing the Death Guard. Despite being more than likely outnumbered, the Salamanders organized a landing party which would be led by Artellus Numeon. Both Sergeants agreed upon this course of action, as Numeon had been standing vigil over their Primarch's body and mourning him ever since their departure from Port Hera. Rampart Xathen and Zytos would not risk the full-complement of Astartes aboard the Charybdis, and so, merely twelve legionaries in a single gunship, the Draconis, would make the descent to aid the beleaguered civilians. These twelve would however, include Numeon, both Xathen and Zytos, Epistolary Ushamann and Techmarine Far'kor Zonn, a powerful strikeforce. Using his long repressed psychic gifts, Ushamann screened the station beyond telepathically, confirming the presence of the unknown Astartes and the Death Guard's usual brutality, which in all likelihood had released toxic agents inside Rampart. However, overwhelmed by the psychic link, Ushamann began to lose control, prompting actions from another Legionary who knocked him out as a matter of precaution. Thus deprived of perhaps their most powerful asset within their small group, the Salamanders reached Rampart. Just before landing, Xathen and Zytos exchanged their opinions on Numeon's ability to lead. While having fully recovered, physically speaking, Numeon had failed to step forth and take command of operations or assume true leadership as both sergeants had hoped. This blooding on Rampart would not merely be an act of vengeance, it would be the anvil upon which Artellus Numeon would be broken definitely or reforged in the fire of battle. Setting foot on Rampart, the Salamanders found the landing zone desolate, with no Death Guard present to challenge their approach. Xathen and Zytos hopes were almost immediately deceived as Numeon stepped down and left command to Zytos. Hiding his anger as well as he could, Zytos ordered his squad to split into five-men combat squads, a novelty for the XVIIIth Legion which almost always had deployed only en-masse since their reunification under Vulkan in the Great Crusade. However, each and every Legionary present had been a survivor of Istvaan V and was by then well used to such guerrilla tactics. Since entering the station proper, the Salamanders had discovered traces and evidence of some toxic or viral agents being utilised by the Death Guard. A long-standing rivalry had always existed between the Death Guard and the Salamanders, both being reputedly the most resilient Legion, but Vulkan had always forbidden the use of such horrors such as Phosphex, dirty bombs and chemical warfare -- domains in which the Death Guard had always excelled. Fully ignoring the depths to which the Death Guard had fallen, the Salamanders initially simply believed to be facing a Destroyer-cadre. Advancing further into the complex, Techmarine Zonn, who had stayed behind, voxed ahead that he had found the crews of both Death Guard gunships dead, killed by precise head-shots of mass-reactive shells through the canopy of their Thunderhawks. Whoever opposed the Death Guard on Rampart was quite the marksman. Having still not encountered the enemy, the Salamanders reassessed their position, closing on the main generatoria of the facility where the survivors would without doubt be located. The Death Guard's methods of war had always been deliberately slow, mercilessly grinding their enemy into utter destruction. Encountering the enemy at last, the Salamanders fall upon the Death Guard rearguard, a single, seven-men squad, which went down fighting. Initially held back by heavy weapons fire of a Volkite Culverine, the Salamanders doused the entire corridor in cleansing flame. After Sergeant Zytos had clipped the enemy weapon carrier, Numeon led the charge, uttering his personal battlecry, "Vulkan lives!" Numeon struck two legionaries down with Draukoros and Basilysk, and engaged a third before the rest of the Salamanders could reach the hand-to-hand combat. Easily dispatching a Death Guard Legionary with a swing of his Thunder Hammer, Zytos saw the sole unengaged Death Gaurd Legionary grab for a bomb at his waist. Warning Numeon of the impeding danger, he shoulder-charged the Death Guard he was struggling with, into the path of his comrade, who absorbed a great deal of the blast but left him alive. It was only then that Numeon realised that he was now surrounded by a cloud of toxic and acidic vapours, eating away at his armour's hermetic seals. Although less close to the blast, Zytos' armour registered similar damage, the deadly vapours having easily been able to kill the entire squad in the limited confines of these corridors, Zytos had no other choice than to give the order to burn the toxic miasma. Again Vorko stepped forward, dousing the entire corridor in cleansing flames, only this time the blast was directed against their captain. The Salamanders Legion claimed their name from the hugely powerful predators of their home world Nocturne that resided in the planet's fiery depths. Their hides are extremely resilient and almost impervious to flames and it is customary for the Legion’s officers and elite troops to hunt down and kill such a beast as a rite of passage and to wear the beast's hide as a token of valour. As captain of the Pyre Guard, Artellus Numeon had also participated in these rites, however, his equipment had been irremediably lost on Istvaan and Traoris, meaning that he no longer had the fireproof protection of his noble drake-hide. As the horrified Salamanders looked upon their leader, now entirely surrounded by flames, few doubted that they now witnessed the funerary pyre of Artellus Numeon. The Salamanders thought they had roasted their own commander alive. But to their astonishment, Numeon's voice could still be heard on the squad's vox channel, invoking Vulkan's name, followed by silence. As the fiery inferno abated, Numeon's bent form could be seen, clutching Vulkan's sigil in his hand. The servos of Numeon's armour had been seared shut and the proud drake-green livery had been burnt away and replaced by soot. His helmet was a ruin while in some places his armour's ceramite was bare and glistened with heat, but ultimately Numeon had somehow survived. As the Salamanders were about to rejoice, a Death Guard Legionary attacked from Numeon's flank, clenching their captain's throat with his hands and tried to suffocate him. Numeon grasped for the gladius at his side that Sergeant Thiel had gifted to him on Macragge, and rammed the weapon deep into the Death Guard's skull, thus ending the fight. Galvanised by this new miracle, the Salamanders pushed on. Having been forewarned by their comrades in the corridor, a small detachment of Death Guard had been ready to receive the onrushing Salamanders, confining them for the time being to the role of spectators: three Aegis Defence Lines had already been overrun by the fourteen remaining Legionaries of the XIVth Legion, which marched unimpeded through a deluge of las-fire and solid slugs, their Power Armour impervious to such weapons. Yet the Death Guard had not gone unbloodied, as attested several dead legionaries brought down by precise Bolter-fire. Their would-be ally could be seen firing from one of the gun towers -- a grey legionary in plain armour of an unknown but undoubtedly advanced pattern. With Vorko impeeded by his leg-wound, having been clipped by the Death Guard's Volkite Culverine in the corridor, the four remaining Salamanders split up in teams of two and used the wreckage as cover to close in with the XIVth Legion's rearguard. The four Legionaries opposing them, already compromised and burning from Vorko's sustained fire, went down swiftly, stalling the Death Guard's advance which now needed to split their attention between the Salamanders and their quarry. The "Angel" -- as they had taken to call him -- laid down suppressing fire to further disturb the reorganising Death Guard. Vorko switch to his side-arm to lay down suppressing fire as well, the enemy now beyond range of his flamethrower. The loss of his right eye had impeded Numeon more than he had readily anticipated, as the loss of depth perception severely compromising his ballistic skills. However he had always excelled in close combat and only needed his brothers to allow him to close with their enemy. Following Numeon, the Salamanders quickly went for hand-to-hand combat where their superior weapons would make the difference, Zytos smashing the enemy with his thunder hammer and Numeon slashing with Draukoros. The grey legionary also charged in, killing two Death Guards in quick succession, his fighting style brutal and not elegant -- a pugilist more than a fencer. With the Death Guard defeated, Numeon finally stepping up as the group's leader asked the "Angel" for his name. The situation was tense, Numeon still aied Draukoros at the grey legionary's heart. On closer inspection, Numeon realised that the legionary's armour was not totally bereft of iconography as they had previously thought, but was adorned with the rune of Malcador the Sigilite. Raising his hands in surrender, the legionary presented himself as Brother Kaspian Hecht, and that he was indeed one of Malcador's Knights Errant. With matters sufficiently resolved, to allow a plan of evacuation for Rampart's survivors, the combat squad was joined by Xathen's group, which had been exploring another part of the station and had thus missed the battle. This reunion was however cut short by Techmarine Zonn's urgent communication, advising the landing party that a third gunship of the Death Guard had appeared and were now trying to destroy the Draconis. Quickly redeploying, the Salamanders had little hope of seriously damaging the gunship, as they carried no heavy weapons, but a lucky shot from Xathen's Bolter blew out the port-side turbine which considerably destabilized the gunship. Almost on cue, the Draconis’ rear ramp lowered and Epistolary Ushamann stepped out, his armour illuminated by blue-green witch-fire. Directing his fingertips at the looming gunship, he relased a serpent of eldritch fire against the vehicle, gutting the gunship before its fuel-reserves ignited and the gunship exploded mid-flight. The Death Guard had had no time to evacuate the striken craft, and those who had survived the explosion and the fall were quickly despatched by the Salamanders. Ushamann, exhausted from the use of his powers, fell to his knees, explaining to the onrushing Zytos that he had beheld a vision of their Primarch compelling him to rise and aid his brothers. "Vulkan lives..." he told them, and none present, doubted his worlds, even Kaspian Hecht was convinced. Into the Ruinstorm Sacred Soil of Nocturne Ultimate Fate Having been trailed by the Death Guard Legionary commander, Malig Laestygon, Numeon and his fellow survivors successfully linked up with Chaplain Nomus Rhy'tan and their fellow Salamanders remaining on Nocturne. Together, they managed to vanquish the invaders and brought Vulkan's body to the sacred ground beneath Mount Deathfire. However, once the proper rites had been conducted, Vulkan didn't emerge from the fiery pit he was submerged in. Waiting for over a week, this turn of events sufficiently broke Numeon's spirit. As the next Time of Trials drew near, Numeon renounced his rank and position. Stripping off his power armour, he departed from his fellow legionaries and stealthily wandered away into the burning ash wastes around Mount Deathfire, where he offered himself as a final sacrifice so that his father and Primarch could be restored. Source *''Vulkan Lives'' (Novel) by Nick Kyme *''Deathfire'' (Novel) by Nick Kyme Category:A Category:N Category:Characters Category:History Category:Imperial Characters Category:Imperial History Category:Salamanders Category:Space Marines